


Of Memories and Chocolate

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chocolate is always a good thing, especially after a hard day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Memories and Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [who_la_hoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/gifts).



> Written in April 2009.
> 
>  **Betas** : romaine24 and the_flic
> 
>  **A/N** : A much belated birthday story for who_la_hoop, who requested Drarry, prompt: chocolate.

_Harry knelt, head bent, hair falling into his eyes. Jaw clamped shut, every muscle taut, he remained utterly silent and still. The floor was made of planks so warped, knotted, and splintered that kneeling on it had to be painful, especially in fine wool trousers. His cufflinks and the french cuffs of his shirt had been transfigured into manacles, fastening his hands behind his back. Blood still occasionally dripped down his fingers from an attempt to free himself._

Throwing himself out of the Pensieve, Draco cursed. "Bloody Gryffindor, doesn't have the sense God gave a goose. Even Weasley usually manages not to get caught."

"Catch a bad one today, Malfoy?" Eddie Carmichael came around the low wall separating their work areas. His eyes lit up with greed. "Want to trade? I've got Dawlish's interview with the Quidditch hooligans."

"In your dreams, Carmichael," Draco said, pasting a smirk on his face and hiding his wand under his desk.

"But you always get to review the memories of Potter's assignments. Don't you think it's time the rest of us had a chance at him?"

"No, I don't," Draco snapped. "Now if you don't mind, some of us have work to do."

Carmichael muttered something under his breath but, at Draco's raised eyebrow, whirled around and stomped back to own work area.

"Pathetic," Draco murmured. A decent dramatic exit, as Snape had taught his favourite seventh year Slytherins, required billowing robes, a ramrod-straight back, and a head held high. Carmichael failed on every one of those counts and more.

Rolling his eyes, Draco activated his privacy wards. Then, reminding himself that he'd talked to Harry, and that Granger and Jones had promised him that Harry's injuries were minor, he dropped back into the Pensieve.

 _A dim light flashed on and off, creating shadows and rendering identification of the figures surrounding Harry impossible. Long dark cloaks disguised gender, body shape, and weight. Drooping hoods obscured faces._

 _Harry raised his head and sneered, "Bunch of second-rate hooligans. The originals were actually scary."_

 _A hand lashed out, ring slicing a furrow along Harry's chin._

Long fingers, Draco noted, clenching his fists against the impossible need to protect Harry. Cheap gold and diamond chip ring on wedding finger. Ornate M-K decorating gold signet ring (clearly family heirloom) on baby finger...

 _"Enough," a deep voice growled from the left. "End this!"_

 _A barrage of dark blue spell-light flew towards Harry even as he fumbled for the alarm beacon and Portkey embedded in his shoe._

As soon as the memory ended, Draco was thrust back into his work area. Disoriented, he blinked and took a deep breath. Then he got back to work.

His movements were automatic, methodical. He decanted the memory into an unbreakable glass globe and added his notes and observations. With his wand, he added his own seal and signature to the chain of evidence. A quick flash of his wand and the memory and notes were locked in the transfer cabinet. From there, the original would be sent to the Unspeakable assigned to the case and a duplicate set returned to the Aurors handling the investigation. Another swish and flick cleansed the Pensieve, destroying any residue that could be used to reconstruct even the tiniest fragment of the memory.

Even as he went through the motions, locking and warding everything in his work area, all he could see was the spell-light. His thoughts were a circular litany of the charms, hexes, and curses which produced that colour.

And as the Floo began to spin him around, his knees buckled under one last thought: what if Harry hadn't been able to reach his shoe.

~o0O0o~

The foyer was empty when Draco arrived home. He grabbed for the bar they'd installed specifically to help people regain their balance and, when he stumbled, thanked Merlin yet again for the Floo pillow that cushioned his fall. He didn't resent the small fortune Lavender Brown was making from the simple, tasteful cushions. Even if it had been Harry's frequent, ungraceful exits that had inspired them.

Flinging his uniform robes at a chair, he raced up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, and then strode down the hallway. The heels of his boots thudded against the carpet runner, and he glowered at his uncle's portrait when it dared to hush him.

He rounded the corner and then halted. The door to their bedroom stood ajar. Candlelight flickered yellow and welcoming in the open space. Reassured, he moved forward. Now, he watched his steps and tried to be quiet. Just in case, he told himself. Although he knew that Harry would be awake, waiting for him.

"Took you long enough," Harry said. He was in bed, pillows stacked behind his head and the rumpled covers pulled up to mid-chest. A book lay abandoned next to him.

Even as he neared, Draco noted everything. Harry's wand lay on the bedside table next to his glasses and a veritable pharmacopeia of potion phials, not under his pillow. His face was pale and drawn. Unguent glistened on the red line that marred his chin. White bandages circled his wrists. But Harry hadn't put on pyjamas, hadn't needed the meagre comfort of a cloth barrier between himself and the world, which meant that his injuries hadn't come close to being life-threatening.

"You know us memory auditors," Draco said, trying for nonchalance. "We can't leave until we've cleaned up after the Aurors."

"You could let someone else--"

"Well, Carmichael did offer." Draco responded.

Harry's flinch was gratifying, for a brief moment until Draco realised that it had also been painful. Knowing him, he'd probably refused all but the absolute minimum of pain potions before his friends left and then not taken any since.

Perching on the bed, Draco reached out a hand and traced Harry's face. He smoothed the vertical line between Harry's eyebrows, caressed the uninjured cheek, and then continued to gently map his neck and shoulders, arms and chest. Bruises dotted the pale skin; some so defined that they might well have been used to take fingerprints. At least one rib was healing, perhaps two.

"It's nowhere near as bad as it looks," Harry said, clasping Draco's hand between his own.

"You're hardly a good judge of that, given past experiences."

Expression turning mulish, Harry protested, "How was I supposed to know my ankle was broken? It wasn't that painful."

"Shattered, I believe was the word the Healer used when you finally admitted that it might just hurt a bit too much to be a sprain."

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Not as long as I'm unable to forget it."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, only to close it again. "That's hardly fair," he said eventually. "Not all of us have the talent required to turn the smallest scratch into a major dramatic event."

Knowing he'd won that round, Draco brushed a kiss over Harry's forehead and lips. Then, he rose to his feet, and began to undress. His shoes went into the box for polishing, and his clothing into the hamper that transferred them downstairs to wait for Tandy's next washing day. From a drawer, he picked out a pair of the pyjama bottoms he used when they had company.

"I sent everyone home," Harry said, "and mine have already been relegated to the hamper."

Definitely not that seriously injured, Draco thought, relief flushing through him and making his head spin. He refolded the pyjama bottoms and put them away, using the delay to pull himself together. When he felt steady enough, he walked over to his side of the bed and placed his wand on the bedside table. As soon as he was under the covers, Harry was in his arms.

They lay quietly, Harry's head on Draco's chest, arms wrapped loosely around each other. Draco ran his hand up and down Harry's arm and back, the touch bringing its own reassurance.

The moment didn't last. After a minute or two, Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Can't fucking stay this way. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Draco said, and then, when Harry was settled against his pillows again, continued, "I'm sure it's past time you took something for the pain."

"Wanted to be awake when you got home," Harry admitted, "make sure you're okay."

"Me?" Draco snorted. "I'm not the one who got the shit beaten out of him this afternoon."

"It wasn't that bad."

"I saw it, remember."

"You could stop any time. I'd understand."

"Stupid--" Draco caught himself just in time. He really didn't want to get into that argument again.

"I know." Harry twined his fingers with Draco's and held on tightly enough for his ring to dig into Draco's flesh.

"When you're ready to retire from the field, I'll quit auditing memories." Draco brought Harry's hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. "It's better this way. I don't have to fret over what you're not telling me, and neither of us has to worry about another memory auditor writing a tell-all book about the _Boy Who Lived to be an Auror_."

"I wouldn't have minded so much if she'd written something that remotely resembled the truth."

"Yes, you would." Draco sat up, moving Harry's hand to his lap. "Now where's the chocolate?"

A sharp pop announced Tandy's arrival. "Is being here," she said, levitating a tray with a carafe and two mugs onto the bed. "Mister Harry--" she aimed a severe look in Harry's direction "--is refusing medicine until Mister Draco is home. No matter what Tandy is saying."

"I'm home now," Draco assured the house-elf, barely managing to hide his smile, "and Harry will drink his chocolate and take his potions."

Tandy merely glared at both of them, harrumphed, and popped out.

Draco and Harry looked at each other. Harry's smile became a snort, which turned into snickers. "Do not make me laugh," he wheezed, "it hurts."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Draco said, his lips twitching and his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort not to laugh.

"Sure you wouldn't."

"One of us has to be the sensible one."

"And that would be you, would it?"

"Why shouldn't it be?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"Not really," Draco said, shaking his head and sniggering. "Besides, isn't that why we keep Granger around?"

And then Harry lost it, laughing so hard that Draco had to release his hand so he could clutch at his ribs. "You," he panted, "are an evil, evil man."

"It's why you love me so much." Draco felt very smug as he poured hot chocolate from the carafe. He waited until Harry had himself back under control before handing him a cup.

"Of course it is," Harry murmured. He inhaled the fragrant steam from his cup and his expression turned blissful.

Draco's breath caught in his throat and his heart ached. If he lived to be two hundred, he thought, he'd never get tired of seeing that look on Harry's face.

~fin~


End file.
